


Three Times Castiel Doesn't Answer Dean's Prayers, and One Time He Does

by HauntedByDayDreams



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel is Not Oblivious, Dean Winchester Prays to Castiel, Dean Winchester Realizes His Feelings For Castiel, Dean doesn't want Cas to leave, Dean in Purgatory, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Lucifer Possessing Castiel, M/M, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8595709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HauntedByDayDreams/pseuds/HauntedByDayDreams
Summary: The prayer has no words. It has no thought behind it at all, really, just a jumble of emotions and feelings and memories, and if Castiel isn't overwhelmed it's not on Dean for a lack of trying.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this both because it seemed like a fun idea to help burst through writer's block, but also because I detested the way Dean let Cas leave the bunker again with hardly any protest (his quest to find Lucifer reminds me of his need for penance in Purgatory).
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
>  _"Cas, you got your ears on? Listen, you know I'm not one for praying, 'cause in my book it's the same as begging."_ 8x12

Dean is lost.

Sammy- his baby brother- he's gone. He's in Hell, in the cage, and he's not coming back, and _dammit_ , everything had gone so wrong. So terribly wrong.

Dean feels hooks sink into the delicate flesh of his stomach, feels chain constrict his airpipe and scapels at his nose. The putrid stench of rotting flesh and the yellowed teeth of his tormentors. The fire and the blood and the screams. Dean imagines his brother, a victim of circumstance like no other, and can't find a way to connect the two memories. They're like puzzle pieces that no matter how hard you try don't fit together. Sam doesn't belong in Hell, he belonged at Harvard with Jess studying law, and Dean can't come to terms with the grotesque reality of it all.

It's his fault, after all. He dragged him back into this life, knowing fully well where it led.

Dean's fingers twitch around the bottle of Jack Daniels, his eyes sliding from the tiny amount of amber liquid pooling in the bottom to the cell phone laying on the table in front of him. _Call her,_ one part of his brain demands. The other part, a barrage of incoherency and uninhibited emotion, screams, _No, don't, they're better off without you. They won't understand. That life isn't for you._

Dean slumps against the back of the chair, carelessly toppling the bottle of whiskey as his arms drop limply to his sides. His hazy vision clicks into focus as he stares at the ceiling, and his alcohol-addled brain can only produce one other thought that isn't of Ben and Lisa and Sammy and Hell and fire and brimstone.

"Casss." 

He surprises himself on the word, blinking uncertainly and trying the name on his lips again before he tries to continue. "Cas, I... I need you, buddy. Please... I... I could use your... I need help right now."

He waits impatiently for any of the tell-tale noises he's so used to that signal the angel's arrival: the flutter of wings, footfalls, the guttural sound of Dean's own name. Only the spluttering of the cooling unit by the window fills the silence.

"Castiel! Please, I'm... 'M asking you, dammit!" Dean is growing increasingly angry, and though part of him knows it's unjustified, another part of him is screaming about the unfairness of it all, when he's crumbling and defeated and so utterly _lost_ and his alleged _friend_ is ignoring his prayers. 

In the morning, Dean will call Lisa, and two days later he arrives at her front door with no flowers, only apologies.

~~~

Purgatory itself is in mourning, Dean muses to himself as he gathers branches and thicker twigs for use in an animal trap.

He reaches this conclusion because, for one of the more obvious reasons, everything and everyone is left rendered in somber tones of grey. The sky, the monsters, even his own skin when he glimpses his reflection in a stream; it's all washed-out, like time has corroded in two weeks what normally takes twenty years.

It is also because of the actions of the "residents" themselves. The beasts of Purgatory know that this is their final resting place, their own sad copy of Heaven or Hell. There is no hope, no ambition, only dried-out, bland despair. And boredom. The monotony of this place is enough to drive Dean insane.

But Dean treks on, hunting and killing just enough to stay alive, and just enough to keep searching for Cas. Because, after all, that is the only reason he is still clinging to life in this wasteland, isn't it? He wants- no, _needs_ to find Castiel. The angel has saved him, betrayed him, and lost his marbles all in the last year, but, even if he isn't sure why himself, Dean still considers Cas family. Blood. The angel is the first thing on his mind when he lays down at night- night being a relative term, as there is no sunlight or darkness in this place- and is there again upon waking up.

Dean knows there is no way to escape Purgatory- he knows he'll likely be, as Cas so eloquently put it, "ripped to shreds"; but he'll be damned if he doesn't find him first. Dean doesn't want to live or die alone, and Cas- Cas doesn't deserve that, either. Not here. Not in a land of abominations.

As Dean works, he sends up a prayer, something that has become almost habit in the months since he's been here.

 _Hey, Cas. I still don't know why you took off the way you did. I'm sure you'll have a reason, but whatever it is, it isn't good enough. If you don't find me, I'm going to find you, and we're going to..._ Dean straightens up, arms laden with branches, and considers his next words carefully. _We're going to stay together, when and if the worst comes. We owe each other that, right? So stop being a dick and maybe meet me halfway._

It'll be along time before he sees Cas again.

~~~

_Cas..._

_I'm_ sorry. 

~~~

_Cas, I-I understand why you did it, but we'll find another way, man. One that doesn't require letting Lucifer ride shotgun in your vessel._

Dean's head is bowed, his eyes open but vacant, staring absently at the graining of the table. Sam is nearby ordering a late lunch for them both, even though Dean already knows he won't be able to eat it. His stomach lurches uncomfortably as the scent of greasy hamburgers wafts by. Maybe he should have waited in the Impala.

The realisation of what Cas has done, why he did it, and the fact that Dean _didn't even realise_ for _weeks_ were all lodged uncomfortably in his head, unable to be forgotten or filed away for later. The thoughts roared loud and ugly, demanding his attention. Cas's blue eyes hadn't been his own when Lucifer had looked at him; nor had they been for the past several weeks. While Dean was moaning about his own situation and looking at _the big picture, always the big picture, because God help him if he slows down enough to evaluate his life and see how messed up it truly is_ \- while he was busy, Castiel had been suffering inside his own mind.

Suffering _alone_.

Dean winces, imagining- or rather, trying not to imagine- what Castiel is experiencing at the hands of the archangel.

_We'll get you back, Cas. Just hold on. Me and Sammy, we're working on a plan as I speak._

Of course, the hunters had no plan. They had no locations for Lucifer's whereabouts. Hell, they didn't even know where Rowena was. They had nothing.

_Stay strong, man. I need you._

They'd find a way, despite the odds. They always had.

~~~

"Morning, sunshine. Some coffee?"

Cas's voice is a gruff deadpan. "No, thank you. I have to go." Apparently by that he meant he had to go _now_ because even before he was finished speaking his coat was swishing behind him as swept into the hall. 

Dean shot a startled look at Sam, quickly hefting himself up out of his chair to catch up with the angel.

"Cas! Cas, wait up." No response. Dean catches up to him in the hallway, heavily dropping a hand on his shoulder and spinning him 'round so that they're face-to-face. "Hey, wait a second. Where you off to?"

Castiel's eyes sort of slide by Dean's own, his expression inscrutable. Dean's hand falls back to his side. "Cleveland, Ohio."

"For what?" Dean's chest feels suddenly hollow.

"I think I may have a lead on Lucifer. I found a police report in Cleveland about a man whose eyes flared a glowing red. It could be Lucifer in a new body."

"All right. Yeah, that sounds like something. We should check it out."

"No." 

Dean had seen the refusal coming a mile away, but it still stung like a slap.

"The Devil is free because of me," Cas continues in that low rumble of a voice, "and finding him is my responsibility."

"Cas, you're gonna want some backup on this," Dean insists. 

Cas's eyes are steely as they meet his own, but Dean sees a flicker of- sadness, anger, resolution, Dean can't tell- in their depths. "If it is him, I will call you," Cas says definitively. "In the meantime..." His eyes flicker towards the kitchen, Mary's voice filtering back to them. "I think you're needed here."

Cas turns to go, but this time Dean catches his hand. He doesn't think about it, doesn't plan for it; the action is an extension of his panic at seeing Cas speed away so quickly again after what should have been a heartening victory for Team Free Will. He doesn't want Cas to go. They just freaking _saved the world_ , AGAIN. His mother was back from the grave, and they had Sammy back. They were alive. They should be celebrating. He needs Cas here, in the bunker with Sam and his mother, for this picture to be perfect.

"Please, Cas," he says, surprised at the tremor in his voice, and perhaps it is this that makes Cas halt dubiously. The angel's eyes trail down to their conjoined hands. "Heaven, Hell, Lucifer, the demons, all of it can wait. Just wait."

"Dean..." Cas finally looks at Dean, his expression uncharacteristically unguarded. Dean can see all of the sadness and uncertainty and thoughts of _where do I go now_ that makes Castiel so very human-like. 

_Cas doesn't feel like he belongs here,_ Dean realises. _He doesn't think we want him._

Dean gazes into those round blue eyes, and he prays.

The prayer has no words. It has no thought behind it at all, really, just a jumble of emotions and feelings and memories, and if Castiel isn't overwhelmed it's not on Dean for a lack of trying. He lets Cas feel every ache of sadness Dean has felt when Cas leaves without cause, every small smile brought to his lips by stolen moments in dire times. He lets Cas feel his _importance_.

Dean lets Cas attune himself to his innermost thoughts, the things he can't say because he doesn't know how or is too afraid to. Things slip through that Dean doesn't necessarily mean to let Cas see, though he likely doesn't even understand cocktail of emotions that accompany many of his memories.

Dean regains himself, slightly disoriented and blinking owlishly back at Cas. They're standing too close together, Dean realises all at once, their faces inches apart and Cas's breath warm on his cheeks. Dean takes a step backwards, but Cas doesn't seem to even notice.

He stares at Dean, his mouth agape, eyes filled with wonder. The last time Dean has seen such an expression on the angel, they'd been standing together in Purgatory and Dean had earnestly been crying, "Please, Cas, I need you."

"Dean," Cas whispers, the reverence and devotion and awe in his voice enough to make the hunter flush bright red. As if through a fog suddenly Dean recalls that their hands are still clasped, meaning he has yet to let go- and neither has Cas. Dean assumes it's because the angel just hasn't noticed, but a moment later Cas squeezes his hand and weaves his fingers between Dean's own. Dean's mouth goes dry.

Cas averts his eyes, and for just a moment a smile ghosts across his lips.

"I will stay a while longer," he relents, which is funny because Dean had forgotten what they had even been arguing about; and Dean barely hears over the deafening sound of blood rushing in his ears anyway. Cas may be clueless in many regards, but the tender look in those crystalline eyes is enough to make Dean's brain malfunction.

"I, ah, uh- good. That is, that's great, Cas." 

Dean swallows thickly, looks down at their hands and smiles. Really smiles. Cas notices, and for the first time in a long time he graces Dean with his own gummy grin that is all too rare an occurrence. 

He had been wrong. Cas _did_ understand. And it was even possible- no, now it seemed _likely_ that he reciprocated.

"Really great."

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you thought!


End file.
